Fenix (12 page)

              He noticed that there was sweat inside his gloves now.

             
So it is real after all! 

He turned his attention to the aircraft. The attitude of his Mig-29 was stable: zero roll rates, positive pitch. The rumble of the afterburners reminded him that he was still accelerating whilst climbing. Sure enough, the velocity and Mach counters were registering the gradual increase in his kinetic energy.

              The dotted rectangle turned solid with an audio tone in his helmet earphones. Now their own radars had also acquired the two enemy aircraft. Sure enough, the radio squawked: “Mongol-two to pike. Bandits handed over. Kill them all!”

              “Wilco!” Oberoi looked left and right to see the other seven Mig-29s flying in a line-abreast formation. All aircraft would engage simultaneously. He switched frequencies: “Pike elements: here we go! Weapons release on my mark. Break the enemy formation and dive for the deck. Do not let the buggers keep you at arm’s length! We do our business better up close and personal!”

              “
First supersonics!
” was the chorus response on the comms. Oberoi smiled. The squadron had really taken to its name with pride following the China war. Back then, they had been one of the first air-force units committed to combat against the Chinese aircraft in Ladakh. Now the phrase had taken had taken on a meaning of identity with the squadron as well as its charging battle-cry.

              Like the cavalry leaders of old…
Oberoi cycled through the R-77 missile targeting and release. He and the rest of his pilots were seconds away from reaching missile range. Each aircraft carried two of these missiles tonight. They also carried a pair of R-73 close-range heat-seeking infra-red missiles for the up-close-and-dirty work. The innermost pylons were empty now that the drop tanks had been punched…

              The audio tone inside his helmet screeched as the diamonds appeared inside the green rectangles in his
HUD
.

              “Pike! Weapons release!
Fire!
”

              All eight Mig-29 pilots depressed the weapon’s release button on their control sticks within split-seconds of each other. And eight R-77s dropped clean off the pylons and fell underneath the aircraft for a dozen feet before their rocket motors ignited. The missiles accelerated from underneath the aircraft and climbed above them washing the parent aircraft with a large smoke cloud. Oberoi’s cockpit glass swept aside the smoke from his launch as he kept his eyes focused on the large exhaust flash of the missile showing up against a green-black background on his night-vision goggles. The missiles were on their way. Eight R-77s against two enemy F-16s.

              His helmet audio screeched again. This time it was a more urgent screech. The two F-16 pilots had released four
AMRAAM
missiles.

              Shit!
             

“Pike! We have missiles inbound! Watch the skies and find the inbounds before you dive! Do
not
take your eyes off the inbounds!”

              Several seconds passed during which he could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. No visuals. Were the missiles smokeless?

             
I hope not…
He continued to focus on the northern horizon as the radar-warning-receivers on his aircraft registered not just the F-16 radar but also their supporting kilo-echo bird much further north. 

             
There!
Four specks of light arcing down from the north.

              “Pike! I have
V-I-D
on four missiles! Arcing down at eleven-o-clock high! Break formation and dodge these suckers!
Break! Break!
”

              He rolled his aircraft inverted and dived. The rest of the Mig-29s did the same. All of them punched out metallic chaff shards as they completed their dives and entered into the cloud floor below. Oberoi’s cockpit disappeared inside a muck of clouds and he lost all visibility within a blink. His hands instinctively pulled his aircraft level to avoid running into a mountain at point-blank range. Out here in the Himalayas, this was a
real
problem.

              “Oh
shit!
” Oberoi shouted as he flipped his aircraft to its side and skipped past a solid rock mountain peak at eight-hundred kilometers an hour. He realized he had dropped significantly in the clouds and not having a ground reference, had not realized it. This needed correction and he pulled his aircraft up into the cloud cover above. His audio screeches confirmed that the missiles had stopped following him a while back. But his radio was alive with the chaotic chatter of his pilots dodging missiles within the mountains.

             
Time to get up there…
Oberoi pushed the throttle forward and pulled the control stick back. Agile as the Fulcrum was, it responded like a sports-car and pitched up to seventy degrees and yet continued to accelerate through the clouds. Within seconds he was above the cover and was staring at the brilliant starry skies above. Of course, now that he was up here, he didn’t like feeling so alone.

              “Pike-two! Where are you? I lost visual!”

              “I have you at my nine-o-clock, leader!” Oberoi turned his head to the left and saw his wingman’s Mig-29 climbing through the cloud floor, trailing wingtip contrails. He then looked back to his right to see where he thought the F-16s should have been. But there was nothing to be seen there…

              “Mongol-two, this is Pike-one,” he opened the comms channel with Verma, “I need a fix on our two bandits right away! Over!”

              The response came few seconds later: “Roger. We have one bandit within two kilometers, due west. We have lost contact with the other after he dived behind clouds of chaff.”

              To my west…
Oberoi scanned the skies as he brought the aircraft heading in that direction. There were large cumulous clouds in the skies showing in his helmet optics as white against the green night sky. But no relative motion suggesting man-made presence. “Pike-two, do you see our prey? I got nothing over here.”

              “
Roger!
I have our prey noon-high within the cloud bank! Two kilometers!” Oberoi jerked his head up and saw the F-16 as it cut through one cloud bank and into the other, looking for its own prey.

              “Follow my lead!” Oberoi brought the control stick back into his stomach and felt the aircraft pitch up even more as they climbed. This time they leveled out underneath the clouds and waited for the Pakistani pilot to burst out of the cover. A few seconds later he did and Oberoi saw the clipped-delta silhouette of the F-16 punch through the white cloud embankment. By this time both Indian pilots had switched to their R-73 missiles. Oberoi lined up behind the single-engine exhaust of the diving F-16…

              Except the Pakistani pilot had other plans. The F-16 abruptly flipped to its right and dived for the cloud floor below. If he got within it, there would be no chance of a pursuit.

              “Pike-two! The bugger has spotted us!
Don’t
let him reach that cloud cover! Follow me in!”

              “Wilco!”

              Oberoi punched the throttle forward and felt the sudden burst of acceleration as the three aircraft dived for the clouds below them. The Pakistani pilot was now punching bursts of flares that instantly decimated the night-vision of the two Indian pilots so close behind him.

              This guy knows his trade!
Oberoi waited for the audio tone confirming his lock. Aerodynamically, the F-16 was no match for the Fulcrum in a close-up fight. And try as he might, the F-16 pilot could only stave off the inevitable for a while…

              “I have tone! Pickle one!” Oberoi shouted as the gravity forces pulled him into his seat coming out of another tight turn behind the desperate F-16 pilot. Oberoi always taught his pilots not to panic in combat. And here was a classic example why. In his desperation to stave off the Indian pilots, the Pakistani pilot had punched flares faster than he had probably realized. And now he had none left. He had also let the flares act as a glowing path leading to himself within the night sky. Now he had other Mig-29s converging from all sides. There was no escape.

              Oberoi felt the shudder as the R-73 flew off its pylon. Unlike the R-77, its motor ignited simultaneously and flew in a quick clockwise arc into the orange-yellow exhaust of the F-16. The small fireball that ensued enveloped the small aircraft and broke it to smithereens. Oberoi and his wingman flipped in opposite directions and flew on either side of the explosion as the pieces flew past, trailing smoky columns with them…

              “Splash one bandit!” Oberoi exclaimed as he pulled his aircraft level near some mountain ridgelines below. But that jubilation was short lived. The aircraft suddenly became backlit by flashes and thunderous rumble of explosions all around. Tracers flew past in streaks and he could hear the whizzes of their flight inside his cockpit. He looked down from the cockpit and saw on either side a ridgeline lit with flashes of anti-aircraft fire aimed at him…

              “
Oh shit!
Pike flight!
Climb, climb, climb!
We are over a hornet’s nest!” He punched flares and afterburner and brought his aircraft into a near vertical climb above the gunfire. He saw the tracers and explosions falling behind him as he reached above the clouds.

              “Pike leader, you all right?” His wingman asked as he pulled level to his portside. Oberoi didn’t respond. His heart was pounding in his chest and he swore that if he relaxed his hands from the stick and throttle, they would start shaking uncontrollably. So instead he grabbed them even stronger.

              “Roger, pike-two. All clear. Some dings and scratches but otherwise clean. Wouldn’t want to do that again, though. Where’s the other bugger?”

              “No
V-I-D
on the second bandit, leader. Mongol-two speculates he was shot down by our long-range volley.”

              “Right. Our losses? Who hasn’t checked in?”

              “Pike-three is down. Took a direct hit from one of the
AMRAAM
s. Pike-five is trailing smoke and bugging south with pike-six as escort.”

              Oberoi looked around and saw the other four Fulcrums apart accounted for. He switched comms to Verma: “this is pike-leader. Skies are clear of the two bandits. We are bingo fuel and egressing south. Over.”

              “Mongol-two copies all. Good work. Scabbard is on station and will reinforce. Pike is cleared to egress. Out.”

              Oberoi switched off the comms and flipped the aircraft to the side as the five Mig-29s of his flight headed south in an arrow formation. As they cleared the line-of-control, they saw an entire line of flashes on the peaks and tracers and explosions moving back and forth. The muffled thunder from the explosions could be heard even above the rumble of the two engines inside his cockpit.

              “You seeing this?” Oberoi asked his wingman and waved down with his hand. The wingman nodded from his cockpit but otherwise said nothing.

              Oberoi turned his attention forward and allowed himself to relax his grip as scabbard flight and its massive force of sixteen Su-30s streaked to their side, heading north into Pakistani-occupied-Kashmir.

              The realization struck Oberoi yet again: it had begun.

──── 12
────

T
he six army pilots looked up as the two-truck convoy roared on to the tarmac and accelerated towards them. Lt-colonel Jagat flicked the small red flashlight off and folded the maps. As the heavily armed soldiers began offloading from the back of the two trucks, Jagat stuffed the maps into his chest pocket and zipped up the leather flight jacket.

              “Here we go, boys.” He nodded to the other five pilots. They saluted and walked off, leaving Jagat and his co-pilot near the open cockpit of the Dhruv helicopter. Jagat noticed the leader of the special-warfare team heading towards him, with his team in tow. The click-snap noise of the crew-chief checking the side-door mounted machine-gun caused them to jerk their head. Jagat checked his wristwatch and looked at the crew-chief: “Start pre-flight.”

              “Yes, sir.”

The co-pilot walked away and opened the side-door of glass cockpit and clambered aboard. Jagat saw Pathanya walk up to him.

“Major Pathanya, reporting as ordered, sir.” Jagat sized the man up. He had never met him before and had never heard about his specific deeds in Bhutan. For Jagat, this young major was like so many others he had taken on dangerous heliborne operations in the Kashmir valley. He conceded that today’s mission was right up “insane creek”, as he liked to call it. And certainly these men in front of him with their faces painted in winter highland camo weren’t his regular customers. But hell, when the mission demanded a quick and dirty airborne insertion, they called on him. This major and his team were just along for the ride.

“Very good, major,” Jagat said as he returned Pathanya’s salute. “Right on time. Get your men and equipment onboard this helicopter and the two others you see there.” He motioned to the two other Dhruv helicopters parked nearby, their fuselages visible only against the bluish moonlight and the main rotor blades oscillating slightly in the chilly winds at Leh.

“Yes, sir.” Pathanya looked back at his team who immediately split into three groups and began carrying their backpacks and personal weapons to the respective birds. Pathanya would fly with Jagat. He walked over and slung his backpack on to the floor of the helicopter as his other team-mates entered through the rear cargo entrance. The distant thunder on the horizon caught his attention. He stepped back from the door and heard the rumble coming from the northwest…

“They have opened up on both sides,” Jagat noted as he walked around the cockpit to the other side. “The line-of-control is lit up nice and heavy by artillery from both sides.”

“It’s all good, though.” Jagat’s co-pilot offered as he put on his flight-helmet and lowered the night-vision goggles. “For us, anyway. Provides a
nice
little distraction on the frontlines for us to sneak through.”

Pathanya shook his head. It was always the same. Everybody had their own little corner of the war to handle. So it was here. He could only imagine what the soldiers underneath that bombardment were facing. After all, he had endured the same during the battle of Wang-Chu bridge in Bhutan. Was Pakistani artillery any better or heavier than what the Chinese division had thrown at him and his team? He was certainly under no rush to find out! Of course, there was nothing like being knocked over by the shockwave from a nuclear blast…

The pain in his thigh shot up as though to remind him that
this
was
no
game. As if he needed any such reminders. There was a small glow of orange to the northeast that silhouetted the Ladakh mountains for a few seconds before the inky black night took over again. The muffled rumbling followed several seconds later. He could feel the first signs of fear somewhere in his otherwise hard outer core. It had to be suppressed if he was going to be effective tonight.

“Sir, what’s our flight look like?” He asked Jagat as the latter flicked on his night-vision goggles. A small green glow reflected back on the visor of his helmet. Pathanya noticed the cockpit was all darkened. There were no lights inside the helicopter except for extremely dimmed ones in the cockpit designed for use with low-light helmet optics. It was certainly eerie to him to see the helicopter turbines coming to life but nothing in the cockpit lighting up to accompany that operation. This was
not
a cockpit for the uninitiated…

“Standard
S-H-B-O
, major.” Jagat noted without turning away from his tasks. “We are leaving Leh in a few minutes and will be heading to our
FARP
, west of Kargil. We will refuel there, meet with our escorts and fly you and your team into the
A-O
. Once there, we will hold position and let you and your boys do your thing. After that we are to pick you up and be back to our jump-off point within an hour.”

The co-pilot turned back to face Pathanya: “We will be going in hard and fast. Low-level nap-of-the-earth flight in the mountains with only low-light optics and no visual landmarks other than our trusty nav system here.” Pathanya could make out the shining white teeth of the grinning co-pilot underneath the helmet and the visor.

Damned
SOCOM
pilots!
Pathanya moved back into the cockpit and grabbed his backpack and rifle as the turbines spooled up and the rotors were spinning at full
RPM
. He looked at the three other team-members inside the cabin: “Hold on to your seats, men. And I
do
mean hold
hard!
We have some real aggressive pilots up front!”

One of the Lieutenants tucked his backpack closer to his chest: “aggressive special-forces pilots?
Oh good god!
That’s all
we
needed!”

Pathanya smiled and pulled his backpack into his chest  just as the helicopter leapt off the ground like a panther leaping on its prey. An apt analogy considering Jagat was always assigned the call-sign “panther” by the operations people. Something to do with his past, if the rumors were to be believed. And with what Pathanya had seen of the man so far, he was ready to believe anything the rumors said.

The crew-chief on board made sure their passengers were still there after the violent lift-off and then went back to manning the machine-gun. Pathanya saw him speaking something into his helmet comms mouthpiece but it was inaudible over the rumble of the engines. But he did see a smile on the
NCO
’s face as he got the response from the cockpit. Probably Jagat had wanted to make sure his passengers were still on board after that liftoff.

Yeah, this flight was going to be real fun…
Pathanya put his head back on the metal skin of the helicopter and let the vibrations relax him. Through the open side door of the helicopter, he could see over the shoulder of the crew-chief and saw the Leh valley falling behind as the three helicopters of Panther flight climbed to the northwest.

T
he blades of the Mi-17 helicopter threw up a cloud of snow and water droplets as it touched down on the forward helipad. The undercarriage tires pressed against the gravel and compressed as the engine power was reduced and the mass of the helicopter bore down on them. The crew-chief got off the rear ramp and confirmed solid contact with terra-firma. Gephel walked off the ramp and headed towards the camouflaged command trailers a few hundred feet away. He had to hold on to his beret for the first dozen feet for fear of it being ripped off his head by the main rotor blades whipping above his head. He was met by one of Ansari’s operations officers who saluted and hurriedly pointed towards the left-most of the command trailers. Gephel nodded and followed the man.

It was hard to see the ground under his feet out here. The loose gravel and the slushy-wet snow felt like it would give way on the very next step. Gephel frowned as his boots sank into the slush. Leh had been clear with only partly clouds. But out here, the weather had become worse. He frowned as his minds ran over possible implications of continued bad weather. Would they have to hold off? Did they even have that option anymore?

“In here, sir.” The captain escorting Gephel said as they reached the closed door of the command trailer. He grabbed the handle and unlocked it just as a series of light flashes to the north silhouetted the valley. He realized the proximity of their location to the line-of-control a few kilometers north. The artillery duel between the two armies was not far off. In fact, he could see the flashes of friendly heavy tube-artillery firing away to the west…

Gephel opened the door before stepping inside. He saw the small operation room occupied by six men, Ansari included. Three of them were
NCO
s manning the radios and battlefield computers. Ansari and a couple of his operations people were leaning over the map table. Ansari was on the phone but waved Gephel inside. Gephel walked over and saw that one of the screens inside the trailer showed the black-white feed from one of the air force’s Searcher-II unmanned-aerial-vehicles. The top-left screen data showed Gephel that this was “cougar-two” orbiting above Deosai…
Inside
Pakistan-occupied-Kashmir.

“The air-force is running
SEAD
missions along our ingress corridor,” Ansari noted as he put the phone back in its position on the side comms panel. “Their Jaguar strike aircraft just snuffed out a few of the enemy anti-air positions along our path. So now they are backing that up with aerial drones. Cougar-two is one of two high-altitude drones over Pak territory at the moment. And it will be our eyes for the next two hours.”

“And then they want their drone back?” Gephel asked.

Ansari nodded and pointed to the digital map on the table in front of them: “It should be sufficient for our purposes. Panther is in the air and leopard will rendezvous with them at the refueling point.”

Gephel crossed his arms. So far everything was on schedule. But going by past experience, how long would that good luck last?